Aftermath
by SUPRNTRAL LVR
Summary: The battle of Helms Deep, but something is very wrong... Aragorn and Legolas are missing from the survivors. Contains limp! and angst!
1. Aragorn

**Okay, long time since I've written a LOTR fanfic, so this might be a bit off. It is AU to both movie and book. It takes place after the battle of Helms Deep... just thought that our favourite Ranger and Elf couldn't have gotten off without a scratch. :D**

**Contains angst and limp, but no slash. You could read it that way I suppose, but there's not going to be any snogging. Sorry.**

In the darkness and horror of a battlefield swamped with the cold bodies of the fallen, nothing stirred.

To anyone who looked upon it, the scene was reminiscent of a man's darkest nightmares, of the furthest reaches of hell. The air was heavy with the smell of blood and sweat, still lingering like a curse over the stretch of land. The ground had vanished beneath corpses, Uruk-hai and man and horse alike, warped together in a twisted, bloody mass. Limbs lay scattered across the carnage; dark, inky blood dripped steadily from clawed, grey fingertips; mouths stretched wide in screams of terror; eyes stared up into the face of death, empty and unfocussed. The battlements of Helms Deep rose up, like some rocky spectator of the scene, part of its surrounding wall crumpled and collapsed like paper. Maybe there had been survivors, but any such man had crawled, limped or staggered to the safety of the hold long ago. In the confusion it had been hard to identify individuals, hard to decipher one man from the other.

Now, in the gathering dark, nothing stirred.

Well, almost nothing.

He wasn't sure whether he was alive or dead as he rolled heavily onto his back and concentrated on breathing. His throbbing head failed to take into account that if he was breathing, he must surely be alive. Instead, the facts that leapt out at him was that his side was wet with thick blood, that agony was spearing through his body, that his sword-arm wouldn't move when he told it to, and that dark dots were dancing before his eyes. He fumbled through these thoughts, trying and failing to piece them together. When he finally did, however, he managed to draw one small conclusion - he was in trouble.

The sky stretched above him, a yawning dark hole into which he felt he might fall if he dared get up. It couldn't be that late in the day, and yet miserable clouds had blocked out the sun, casting a black shadow over the world. It felt like night. No, worse than that... he took in the bodies around him, the corpse of an Uruk-hai which was lying across his legs. It felt like the land of the dead.

A sudden rush of irrational fear surged into him, and with a muffled moan he pushed himself upright. The world titled and he slumped down onto his elbow, blinking in surprise. Something was very wrong with him. He kicked weakly at the Uruk-hai lying over his legs, managing eventually to push it away. The action took more effort than it should have, and left him panting. He curled his legs beneath him, put both hands against the ground, and heaved himself up to his feet.

The movement sent a wave of dizzy nausea through him, closely followed by a searing, burning pain all over his body. He instinctively clutched at his sword-arm, felt hot blood writhing out of his shoulder and around his fingers. His stomach heaved, but he managed to control himself. His last memories of the battle hung in his mind, taunting him. They were surprisingly clear, considering the state he appeared to be in now.

He had been fighting, that much was clear. He had galloped out with the Kind, for one last desperate act to save Helms Deep. He remembered the determination, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like lightning, the savage triumph he felt as he slashed at the monsters rushing at the from atop his horse. And then the joy, the relief as he looked up to see Gandalf on the horizon, closely followed by the Riders of Rohan. The river of horses had spilled down the hill, an unstoppable force as they pounded down on the enemy. Helms Deep's salvation at last. After that, things had been more confusing. The Uruk-hai had fought back viciously, and he remembered being dragged from his horse as they swarmed in on the King. Someone had called his name then, someone had reached for him in vain. He couldn't quite remember who that was, though... and then he was amongst the Uruk-hai, and he was fighting, fighting not just for Helms Deep but for his very life...

He hadn't been alone.

Clear as a beacon, a figure had swung down from a horse and made a dive for him, eyes burning with fury as twin blades came up against Uruk-hai axes. He had been weakening, but then the figure, that person who he couldn't quite place had rushed into the fight with him. They had fought like brothers, perfectly in sync, back to back against the enemy, and even though the Uruk-hai were fierce he could remember laughing, laughing out loud with exhilaration....

Was that when it had happened? It must have been. He remembered the burn as a blade pierced his shoulder, a fist rammed into the older wound in his side. He had gone to his knees from the force of the blow, gasping helplessly, and his gaze had found those blue eyes so close to him and yet too far away to help. Then something had rammed into his head, and he had fallen into darkness, stars bursting before his vision. The last thing he had seen were the eyes of that figure, his brother, the horror and disbelief that passed over his face...

"Legolas," he whispered, coming back to the present with a sharp jolt. He whirled around, sending his own head spinning once more, searching desperately for any sign of his friend. "Legolas!"

There was no answer. The only things that met his gaze were the bodies around him, the blood, the death... what if Legolas was there somewhere, buried beneath the foul bodies of Uruk-hai, his silvery blonde hair streaked with scarlet, his eyes blank and unseeing...

_"Aragorn!"_

_He came out here for me... if he's dead, it's my fault..._

Aragorn couldn't bear it. He plunged through the bodies, slipping and stumbling, gasping as pain stabbed at his head. A soft heat was creeping through his hair, matting it together, searing in the hesitant breeze. His head must be bleeding again.

"Legolas!" he roared, his hoarse voice a wail in the silence. "Legolas, _mellon-nin..."_

In the back of his mind, he thought he heard someone call back. But when he turned, the world became a mass of grey, green and brown, and he couldn't make out any single person. It must have been his mind playing tricks on him, cruelly dangling hope in front of him before snatching it away again...

There was something he should be doing. He should not be wondering this barren wasteland alone, he should be looking for help. But heNi sí an edraith achen leave, not with the knowledge that Legolas was out here somewhere. Legolas would do the same for him... He was moving once more, a disembodied limb caught at his foot, and he staggered and dropped to his knees. His hand came down on something sharp and he flinched backwards, yelping. Why did he feel so scared? He never felt like this, this pathetic, this needy... he hated it, and yet he could not shake it off. He struggled to his feet once more and forced himself on, squinting at the bodies on the ground.

He couldn't find Legolas... couldn't find him...

"Legolas," he repeated, his voice shrinking to a mumble.

That shout came again, like the cry of a bird, from somewhere across the battlefield. This time, Aragorn couldn't tell if it was in his head or not, because the world was spinning around him and he felt sick... and then he was on the ground again, his fingers curling into blood-soaked soil as he retched, choking as he panicked and tried to breathe -

_"Aragorn... Aragorn... _Estel!"

Hands came down hard on his arms, sending a tongue of fiery pain up his side. He groaned and tried to push the hands away, but that grip was like iron. And he was shaking now, shaking so badly that he couldn't even breathe, couldn't think. Darkness closed over his head like water, drowning out the voice that was now close to his ear. He didn't want to know anyway. He had to find Legolas. Nothing else mattered. But then, the darkness pressing in on him was surprisingly heavy and silent, and wrong in every way.

"Estel! _Tíro nin, i__allon achen!"_

He had never heard that voice so terrified ever before. That voice which was so familiar. With a huge effort, he pushed his eyes open a crack.

Legolas was leaning over him, arms wrapped around him tightly. His blonde hair had fallen down over his face in a curtain, his usual neatness lost as strands stuck to his forehead. His eyes were wide and burning with fear, such fear as Aragorn had never seen before. Blood was trickling down his face from a wound somewhere on his forehead. Aragorn stared up at him in confusion, trying to understand what had just happened, how he had ended up on the ground.

"Estel," Legolas repeated, his voice lower now but just as scared. "Estel, do you not hear me?"

Aragorn blinked. He wanted to speak, truly he did, but the words would not come. Every time he began to think, his mind turned blank. He had forgotten why he was even here. He frowned, swallowing hard in an effort to regain his voice. A bitter taste raced over his throat and he winced.

"L-Legolas?"

Relief made Legolas' shoulders slump, and the elf cast his blue eyes skywards as if to say 'thank you' to whatever entity he had been praying to. He gave Aragorn a wobbly smile, squeezing his arm with slender fingers.

"Aragorn, are you trying to worry me to death?" he demanded, clearly trying to sound reproachful. But his voice shook too much, and Aragorn wondered for the first time what he must look like to the elf. Covered in blood and dirt and barely conscious... well, that would certainly account for the elf's fear. He tried to explain.

"I... I had... t'find... you."

Legolas' eyebrows twitched upwards. "Indeed? I thought I was the one trying to find _you_."

Aragorn let his heavy eyes fall shut once more, wincing as pain rolled over him once more in an exhausting wave. Instantly, Legolas was crying out again, shaking him roughly.

"Aragorn, no! You must stay awake, you must!"

It hurt when Legolas touched him. It hurt to think, to open his eyes. He shook his head as much as he could, screwing his eyes shut. He just wanted it to end, just for a little bit.

"Legolas... _Díheno nin... _I-I can't..."

Legolas suddenly pushed upwards firmly, dragging Aragron off the ground. Aragorn coughed weakly, struggling to keep a grip on the world as his head span and his body crumpled around him. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him close against the lithe body beside him.

"Aragorn, you must try," Legolas hissed, his voice strained as he shouldered Aragorn's dead weight. "Come."

Aragorn tried. He managed a few steps leaning heavily on Legolas, but then his legs were giving out beneath him once more. Legolas staggered, struggling to keep them both upright. Aragorn reached out blindly, closed his hand over the leather jerkin beside him.

"I-I'm sorry..." he rasped, his own voice strangely distant.

_"Avo drasto le, Estel," _Legolas replied, his voice steady despite the effort of keeping Aragorn on his feet. _"Ni sí an edraith achen."_

_**Elvish Words**_

_Tiro nin - look at me_

_Iallon Achen - I beg of you_

_Díheno nin - forgive me_

_Avo drasto le - don't worry_

_Ni sí an edraith achen - I'm here to save you_

**Done. No idea when the next chapter will be up due to school exams and stuff, so sorry if there's a gap between this and the next one! Reviews are welcome.**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	2. Legolas

**Thanks to those who gave feedback ;)**

Legolas had realized he was missing only when Gimli turned to him, wiping sweat and blood from his ruddy bearded face, and said, "Théoden owes Aragorn much for this. I believe we have secured an ally, laddie."

He had agreed, but it was only then that he noticed that Aragorn was not with them, nor with the King, nor with Gandalf... He had excused himself from Gimli's company and hurried away to check the halls filled with the wounded. The bloodied men had looked rather alarmed to see a dust-smeared Elf striding through their midst, peering into each face with a cold frown, but he had barely noticed their confusion. Because Aragorn was not among them. His itching curiosity morphing into concern, he jogged to where the Elves had been settled, wondering if perhaps Aragorn had gone to console them after the loss of Haldir. Again, he was disappointed.

He had been wondering back through the castle, anxiety now gnawing on his stomach like a monster, when he quite literally ran into Gandalf. The wizard seemed to breathe a sight of relief at the sight of him.

"Legolas, I couldn't find you," he said, lowering his staff. With his flowing white hair and robe he suddenly looked like one of the great wizards of legend, those which radiated power and confidence.

"I haven't found him," Legolas replied before the wizard could ask. "I have searched the halls of the wounded, the Elven quarters, he is not with Théoden... I do not know where else to look."

"Look?"

Legolas arched an eyebrow. "For Aragorn. I thought you were searching too."

Gandalf's eyes flickered and he looked around quickly, as if expecting Aragorn to appear out of thin air beside them. "I believed he was with the injured," he said, his brow furrowing. He shook his head. "That is indeed a concern. But I was not looking for Aragorn, I was looking for you."

Legolas stared at him, blinking. Gandalf sighed, casting his eyes skywards as if asking the gods for strength. Legolas felt rather as if he was being scolded by his father for arriving home days late after another reckless hunt.

"Legolas, have you been attended by a healer yet?"

"A healer...? No, that is not necessary. It is Aragorn I-"

"Then you must. Come."

Gandalf tried to take his arm, but Legolas pulled away, eyes narrowing angrily. "Gandalf, you are not listening to me! I am telling you Aragorn is missing!"

"And I am telling you, Legolas, that you are in need of attention. Have you not seen yourself?"

Legolas scoffed. He found Gandalf's concern almost patronizing. True, his ribs were still searing painfully from when he had fallen against the wall as he battled three Uruk-hai at once, and his head was throbbing dully from a blow he had taken near the end of the battle. But the gash at his hairline wasn't bleeding half as much as it had been before, and he was sure that no one could see him struggling with his side when he walked. In which case, he was perfectly fine.

Aragorn, on the other hand, was missing. And Gandalf seemed to be failing to understand just how serious this was. He was speaking again, talking about sending out a search party of men, but Legolas simply shook his head and turned away. His nerves were grating after the battle, after the rush of fear and excitement, and he was growing dangerously close to losing his temper. It was something which very rarely happened, and he certainly didn't want to make an occasion of it now. Instead, he strode away towards the huge, half-demolished entrance to Helms Deep. Gandalf called after him, but a man was trying to tell him something about King Théoden and he was forced to let the Elf go.

Legolas stepped out into heavy, damp air which smelt of gunpowder and blood. For a few moments he stood motionless before the doors, gazing out across the devastation before him. He felt no sympathy for the Uruk-hai, but for the men and Elves strewn amongst them his heart ached. But there was no time for the dead now. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and began to search. Even with his Elven sight, it was impossible to identify a single one of the blood-spattered corpses below him. So he did the only thing he could do.

He began to make his way through the destruction, examining every face he passed. He tried not to let the masses of bloody faces sway him, but he couldn't help but wonder what he would do if he did encounter Aragorn's corpse. Aragorn _must _be alive. There was no way on earth that they could complete this quest without him. The Fellowship, though broken, could not take another death...

A sudden movement to his right caught his eye, and he span around, tearing his twin knives from his belt. A figure was staggering in a wobbly line across the battlefield, clutching one arm, hair wet and straggling about his face. But still, Legolas recognized him at once. What shocked him was that he had not even heard the man, hadn't sensed he was there... he must just be tired.

"Aragorn!" he cried, allowing relief to sweep away his surprise. He started towards the man. "Aragorn, _mellon-nin!"_

Aragorn didn't seem to hear him. He was still stumbling drunkenly through the remains of the Uruk-hai, one arm hanging useless, blood spattered across his clothes and skin. Legolas broke into a run, his instincts prickling. Aragorn must be wounded badly to be so confused that he could not hear his friend's voice.

"Aragorn!" he shouted again. "Estel!"

Aragorn tripped on something, fell to his knees. He struggled upright once more, gasping, his eyes unfocussed and glazed. His lips formed a word that Legolas couldn't hear. He took a few more steps, and then dropped to the floor with a dull thud. And this time, he did not get up again.

"Aragorn!" Legolas sprinted the last stretch of corpse-strewn ground between them with a burst of energy, terrible retching, choking sounds screaming in his ears. "Aragorn! _Estel!"_

He threw himself to his knees beside the shuddering man, grabbing him none too gently by the arms. Blood and saliva were dripping from Aragorn's mouth, clogging his throat as his shoulders heaved. His eyes flickered half-open, blind to the world. His trembling fingers pushed weakly at Legolas' grasp, and then without warning let out a groan and fell still, his eyes rolling back in his head. Legolas let out a cry of horror, his fingers digging right into Aragorn's jerkin.

"Aragorn, _mellon-nin!"_

Aragorn gave no response. His face was ashen, blood trickling slowly from his mouth in a terrifying scarlet stream. He hung limply in Legolas' grasp, and blood was roaring in the Elf's ears so loudly that he couldn't tell if he was breathing or not... Sheer, blind panic tore through him, and Legolas shook the man as hard as he could. Elvish spilled from his mouth in a stream of fear, and he suddenly didn't care if he sounded weak or childish. He just needed Aragorn to wake up, _now._

"_Estel! Tíro nin, iallon achen!"_

On some level Aragorn must have heard him - the man's eyes cracked open, glimmering dimly in the half-light. Legolas leant closer, searching his face urgently, begging for some sign of recognition.

"Estel?" he repeated. "Estel, do you not hear me?"

Aragorn blinked. There was a long pause, in which confusion ran over the man's face, and Legolas' heart thudded. And then, suddenly, like an answer from the gods, Aragorn spoke. It was just a single word, and Legolas had never heard his voice so weak and agonized before, but to the Elf's ears it was everything.

"L-Legolas?"

Legolas let out a huge sigh of relief, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to regain control. He took a few deep breaths, and then forced himself to smile.

"Are you trying to worry me to death?" he said, smirking.

"I... I had... t'find... you..."

Legolas stared at him. Had Aragorn been wandering the battlefield, half-conscious and covered in blood, in search for _him? Humans... _"Indeed? I thought I was the one trying to find _you_."

Aragorn's eyes suddenly began to slide shut, and Legolas felt that irrational panic once more. He shook the man again.

"Aragorn, no! You must stay awake, you must!"

Aragorn winced, shaking his head slightly. "Legolas... _Díheno nin... _I-I can't..."

Legolas blanched. Never - _never -_ had Aragorn ever admitted defeat, never in all the long years Legolas had known him. He had always been determined to fight to the end, to keep on pushing no matter what. But now... _Now he needs me, _Legolas told himself fiercely. _Now he needs reminding. _Making up his mind, he rose to his feet, taking Aragorn under the arms and dragging the man up with him. Aragorn coughed and struggled weakly, his legs offering no support whatsoever. Gritting his teeth, Legolas tightened his grip and threw an arm around Aragorn's shoulders, doing his best to take his friend's weight. His own head span sickeningly, and he was forced to shut his eyes for a moment and steady himself.

"You must try," he hissed, almost to himself. He opened his eyes once more. "Come."

He felt Aragorn tense slightly beside him, try to straighten his legs, but at once they buckled. Legolas began to move anyway, half-carrying, half-dragging Aragorn at his side. After only a couple of steps, Aragorn suddenly slumped heavily against him and Legolas staggered to the side, clutching at his friend's jerkin in a desperate attempt to keep them both on their feet. Aragorn's hand clenched on his jacket, his head dropping against Legolas' chest. Legolas' ears caught a barely audible apology, whispered through cold lips.

_"Avo drasto le, Estel," _Legolas murmured, even the world was blurring and shifting before his own eyes. Dark dots were stabbing at his vision, and his head was throbbing furiously.

_"Ni sí an edraith achen_..."

Aragorn was so heavy. And Helms Deep seemed to be so very far away... Legolas sank to his knees, still holding Aragorn tightly. He just had to clear his head, take a moment to calm down, he would be fine... And then, from somewhere close by, came a rumbling snarl that sent chills down Legolas' spine. The Elf lifted his head, panting, squinting through the haze hovering before his eyes.

It appeared Aragorn had not been the only survivor.

A few meters away, one of the monstrous Uruk-hai was crawling unsteadily to his feet, snatching up a rusted, bloodstained sword on the ground. Legolas' stomach jerked. The Uruk-hai was wounded, blood dripping from its chest and cheek, but it was in a far better condition than Legolas was. But there was no one else here... Legolas cursed himself, cursed the Uruk-hai, wished he had listened to Gandalf or at least collected Gimli before rushing out to look for Aragorn alone.

Too late now.

With a groan, Legolas heaved Aragorn from his shoulder and laid the man down as carefully as he could on the ground. A single glance at Aragorn's face told him that the man had slipped unconscious once more. Legolas swallowed hard, trying to force away the pain flickering in his head and ribs. He was out of arrows, and his bow he had left somewhere in Helms Deep with Gimli. Why hadn't he thought to bring it with him? He pulled the two knives from his belt once more, rose to his feet, and strode forwards to meet the Uruk-hai.

They met with a clash of steel, and at once Legolas felt his arms tremble under the strength of the monster before him. It let out a barking snarl, its face contorted with rage, its eyes glowing hungrily. Legolas couldn't attack, couldn't gather the strength to push it away. All he could do was hold his ground against it, staring up into its evil face, his shoulders heaving as he gasped for breath. The Uruk-hai must have sensed his weakness, because a horrible grin spread across its face. It twisted sharply, and Legolas stumbled backwards. He made a clumsy lunge for the creature's neck, swiping his knives upwards, but the creature simply made a fist and hit Legolas hard in the face. The Elf felt blood burst from his nose, felt the ground slam into his side. He scrambled to his knees, his head screaming in protest, the world spinning.

The Uruk-hai had moved past him, perhaps thinking him finished. It looked around, its great gaping mouth hanging open. And then it did the worst thing Legolas could have thought of - it moved towards Aragorn, living its sword.

_"Baw!"_

The shout tore past his lips, and Legolas surged up to his feet with a sudden strength he didn't know he had. He raced at the Uruk-hai and, before it could even turn around, plunged both of his knives into the small of its back. It let out a harsh scream and wrenched away, gurgling disgustingly, and then twitched and dropped to the floor. Legolas stared down at it, forcing himself to breathe, doing his best to calm himself. Done. It was done. Now he had to get Aragorn to Helms Deep, had to keep moving...

_Come on..._

He shut his eyes, and then tore his knives free, pushed them into his belt, and moved slowly back over to Aragorn. He knelt beside the man, barely managing to focus on him, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

"Estel... Aragorn, can you hear me?"

Aragorn made no response. Legolas gathered himself, and then took hold of the man once more and pulled him up. This time, it was a good few moments before he could make himself begin to move.

By the time he reached the doors of Helms Deep, he could no longer insist that he was 'fine'. His legs were barely supporting him any more, and he could feel sweat standing out on his forehead. Aragorn was a dead weight, and the only thing that let Legolas know that his friend was still alive were the shallow, rasping breaths pulsing against his neck. That was the only thing that made him keep walking, the only thing that kept him focussed. If Aragorn's life hadn't depended on him, he honestly would have given up long ago.

So when a small group of people hurried through the partly demolished doors to meet them, Legolas couldn't help but groan with relief. He heard a loud, alarmed exclamation that could have come from no one other than a certain dwarf, dimly saw someone stride forwards and reach for Aragorn. He couldn't quite identify who it was, and tightened his grip on the man as the stranger tried to pull him away.

"Legolas, let him go," a quiet voice said. "I have him."

_Éomer?_ Legolas hesitated a moment longer, but then slowly released his hold and allowed the other man to shoulder Aragorn's weight. People were talking, someone was shouting orders. A flash of white caught his eye, and Legolas blinked as Gandalf came into sight before him. The wizard had taken hold of his arm, holding him tightly, as if he expected the Elf to suddenly keel over. Well, that wouldn't be too much of a stretch of the imagination...

"Legolas? Legolas, look at me _now_."

Legolas narrowed his eyes, managing to make eye contact with the wizard. He swallowed hard, the world swinging dizzyingly around him.

"Gandalf," he murmured. "I believe... I may be in need of... of help..."

Then the world suddenly surged black, and he felt himself pitch forwards into nothingness.

_**Elvish Words**_

_Tiro nin - look at me_

_Iallon Achen - I beg of you_

_Díheno nin - forgive me_

_Avo drasto le - don't worry_

_Ni sí an edraith achen - I'm here to save you_

_Baw - no_

**Didn't think this chapter went quite as well as the last one, but I wanted to get this one up to clear my head before Monday. Hope you enjoyed it.**

**Reviews are welcome.**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	3. Éomer

**Wow, sorry sorry sorry for the shocking wait! Had lots of exams and was kind of all fanfiction-ed out for a while. Still, really hope you guys enjoy this one since it took such a long time.**

**Thanks for the response to the last chapter, sorry if I didn't reply to everyone.**

_Aragorn fell from his horse with a crash, the ground slamming into his shoulders with a jolt. Hands came down on his arms and he struggled to his feet, wrenching free with a yell, swinging his sword around as hard as he could. His sword sliced into the flesh of the Uruk-Hai and he tore it free again with a lurch, the monster tumbling to the floor spraying inky blood. He barely had time to orientate himself before more of them were surging in on him, all teeth and rusted, blood-stained weapons and burning eyes. He couldn't fight them off fast enough, and within a couple of seconds a huge fist the size of a dinner plate had sunk into his stomach. He tumbled to his knees, gasping breathlessly, and blindly lashed out once more. Uruk-Hai dropped around him like toy soldiers, the scream of battle driving in on his ears..._

_A searing pain roared through his sword arm and he let out a scream, his weapon dropping from his spasming fingers. He clutched at the hot thick blood that was spilling from his arm, staggering backwards as yet another Uruk-Hai stabbed at him. He couldn't fight them off, there were too many of them coming at him. He couldn't even see the King and the fleet of horses anymore, couldn't hear them at all. Had they left him? He kicked out at the Uruk-Hai that was still trying to decapitate him, his arm blazing with agony. He tried to call for help, but a single name passed his lips._

_"Legolas!"_

_At once, the Uruk-Hai seething around him vanished, melting away into nothingness. He nearly fell - he had been about to duck a blow. He span around, panting, and saw no one. The whole battlefield was deserted..._

_"Estel."_

_He whirled around again, and found himself face to face with Legolas. The Elf was watching him with a strange coldness in his eyes, his knives hanging useless at his sides. His blonde hair flickered in the wind like smoke._

_"Legolas!" Aragorn breathed, still looking around for the Uruk-Hai. "Wh-What... I don't..."_

_"I came like you asked, Aragorn," Legolas replied quietly. "You called me here. I suppose that means it's your fault."_

_"My fault...? Legolas, what are you talking-"_

_He broke off with a yelp of horror as the tip of a huge sword burst through Legolas' chest. The Elf barely flinched, simply looked down at his own glistening blood that was at that very moment spilling down his chest. Aragorn reached for his shoulder but Legolas' expression suddenly changed to fury, his beautiful Elven features twisting into hatred. As Aragorn watched, bloody tears spilled from his eyes in thick rivets. Aragorn cried out once more, cringing away, and hands closed around his chest. Even as he struggled a knife pressed against his throat, cold and biting. Legolas was still watching, his lip curled in a cruel snarl._

_"Don't worry Legolas. I suppose now... we're even..."_

"NO! Legolas, no, please! PLEASE!"

Éomer flinched as Aragorn screamed, screamed so loudly that he thought he felt his very bones tremble. The blood-stained, half-conscious man fought wildly against him, lashing out with both arms and legs, writhing on the bed as if he were on fire. Éomer clenched his jaw as he struggled to hold Aragorn down, barely managing to avoid being struck by the man's flying fists.

"Gandalf!" he snarled. "Please, I need assistance!"

Gandalf grunted distractedly in response. He had somehow managed to bear Legolas through the stronghold and up to the King's private treatment area, the place usually reserved for the King's closest and most trusted soldiers, with surprising strength for an old man. Well, wizard, Éomer reminded himself quickly. The Wizard himself was at this moment laying the Elf down on the makeshift bed to the right of Aragorn, peering into the Elf's face with a worry that was not reassurring. Éomer could see why - Legolas had been completely unresponsive since he had collapsed outside. Elves were quick healers, and his silence was hugely un-nerving.

Possibly not as un-nerving as the fact that Aragorn was jerking and spasming like a man possessed.

As Éomer began to lose the fight to restrain him, Gimli suddenly appeared out of nowhere and threw himself across Aragorn, effectively pinning him to the bed with his weight. Between them they managed to force him down again, Gimli now restraining his fists. Before Éomer could even thank him, Aragorn let out another raw scream.

"Legolas! _Iallon achen... _NO!"

He was barely even breathing anymore, hyperventilating gasps rushing through his lips. His face was startlingly pale against the blood spattered across his skin. Éomer felt a rush of hopelessness; they could not keep this up. Someone was bound to give soon. The only question was whether it would be Aragorn, or them... and then, like an answer from the gods, Gandalf darted over to them and placed his hand over Aragorn's eyes. He murmured something under his breath, something in a language Éomer didn't know and too fast to catch. Aragorn froze, one hand outstretched in a claw where he had managed to wrestle it free, and then abruptly fell limp.

Éomer released him, letting out a long sigh of relief, and dropped back against the wall. Gimli slithered off the bed and sat on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him, panting. Gandalf straightened up, and in the heavy and sudden silence that followed the enormity of what had happened crashed down on them. Gimli shut his eyes, scrubbing a hand over his ruddy face.

"How did we let this happen?" he said breathlessly.

"We do not control the events in our lives," Gandalf replied quietly. "Quite the opposite." He sighed, and then looked up sharply as the wooden door across the room flew open and Éowyn appeared, her golden hair flying behind her and shining with the emotion that filled her eyes. She caught sight of the group and sprinted towards them, her dress billowing behind her like storm clouds.

"What has happened?" she demanded. "Is he... Someone speak to me!"

Éomer pushed himself upright and moved over to her as she reached them, reaching out to take her arm. "Calm yourself, sister," he murmured, shooting a glance at Gandalf. "Both are alive."

She seemed to notice the hesitance in his voice and looked quickly at Gandalf. "But for how long?" she whispered.

"For a lot longer, if I can help it," Gandalf said softly. He looked from one motionless body to the other, and then gestured to Éowyn. "Perhaps you could attend to Aragorn for now? I can help him, but I fear Legolas' fate much more at this moment. If Aragorn has enough strength in him to fight your brother so, then perhaps he can afford to wait a few minutes."

Éowyn nodded, her lips tight, and dropped to her knees beside Aragorn. Casting her a short glance, Éomer frowned and moved after Gandalf as the Wizard returned to Legolas' side and sat down on the edge of the Elf's bed. As he placed a hand over the Elf's eyes - not unlike the action he had taken for Aragorn - Éomer studied him carefully. Legolas no longer looked proud and dignified. Instead, dried blood had matted his blonde hair and was crusting on his upper lip and chin where it had spilled from his nose. Sweat glistened on his forehead. He looked sick, and Éomer knew enough about Elves to know that for any Elf that was bad news.

"Can you help him?" he murmured.

Gandalf lifted his hand, frowning. "I believe so. I fear it will not be a fast recovery though - there is more than just one thing wrong."

"And Aragorn?"

"Aragorn..." Gandalf sighed heavily, suddenly looking very tired. "Aragorn I will deal with in a moment. But I fear he is in just as much danger as Legolas."

Éomer nodded, swallowing hard. Hearing it from Gandalf's mouth was more terrifying than simply knowing it himself. He forced the fear that was creeping into his flesh away, lifting his chin. He was not the victim here. There were others who needed help.

"Anything you need," he said softly. "I am at your service."

Gandalf looked up at him, his eyes shining gratefully. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I believe I shall be in need of your help very soon, Éomer."

_**Elvish Words**_

_Iallon Achen - I beg of you_

_**Thanks for reading, sorry this chapter was a little short but its the most I can fit in! Hope it was ok.**_

**_Reviews are very welcome._**

**_SUPRNTRAL LVR._**


	4. Gandalf

**Once again, huge apologies for the horrifying wait. But good news - the exams are now over! All I have to do now is wait for the results... PANIC! Lol, but for now, on with the story. Thanks very much for all the feedback. I tried to reply to everyone.**

**P.S. wasn't sure about the Elf eye thing - I think I read somewhere that they sleep with their eyes open. Apologies if that's wrong!**

"Gandalf. Gandalf. Gandalf!"

Gandalf flinched, looking up sharply. He had been awake for so long - for days, in fact, ever since he rode out to find Éomer and his riders to call for aid. And true, he was now Gandalf the White, but even a Wizard needed sleep sometimes. And he was beginning to long for it... he forced his mind back to the task at hand. He had begun to tend to Aragorn a while ago, although the Man didn't look much better. Éowyn had done her best, although Aragorn had still been in desperate need of attention by the time Gandalf had turned to him. His sword arm had been slashed open from shoulder nearly to his wrist, and Éowyn had been struggling to stop the bleeding. It didn't help that when Gandalf tried to bind it, Aragorn's fingers twitched and jerked reflexively like jumping spider legs. Éowyn had, however, taken care of the wound to his side and bathed the blood clotting in his hair. But even after Gandalf had done all he could, Aragorn's skin was slick with sweat and his eyes flickered wildly beneath their lids. Under the bruises and dark grazes, he was abnormally pale.

To tell the truth, Gandalf was finding it hard to look at him.

This was the future King of Gondor, someone who featured a lot in his hopes for the future. This was a man who had trusted he, Gandalf, to bring help in time to save Helms Deep and his life. This was the man Legolas had wanted to look for, and what had he done? He had said that everything would be fine, implied that it could _wait. _It was as if he didn't truly believe that any real harm would ever come to Aragorn, just like he didn't believe that they could bear to loose this war. Just like he had to believe that somewhere, somehow, Frodo and Sam were still alive and taking the ring to Mordor, because if he let himself think that their hope was lost, then he would not be able to continue...

"Gandalf!"

He blinked, suddenly remembering the person who had just been calling his name. He turned away from Aragorn, looking up at Éowyn who was now settled beside Legolas. She had twisted around to look at him, her eyes wide in her pale face. Gandalf frowned.

"He's doing it again," Éowyn said.

Gandalf's heart sank and he made his way back over to her. She was right - once more Legolas' eyes had slid shut, his lips forming rapid, silent words, his hands clenching in the blanket beneath him. Elves slept with their eyes open, and it was clear to anyone that closing them for any long amount of time was a bad sign. Of course, there were only a couple of things that could cause such conditions in an Elf - poison, of which it could not be as Gandalf had checked and double checked every wound, an ancient, rare sickness more common in Elflings or... Orc blood. Or to be more specific, Uruk-Hai blood. Any kind of blood like that was bad when it came into contact with Elven wounds in large amounts, but it was nearly impossible to diagnose...

He just had to wait, and try to find out what had happened during the battle when the Elf was more conscious.

"How is he?"

Gandalf glanced up, and then realized that Éowyn was talking about Aragorn. "Not as well as I would like. I hope after he has had some rest... well, we shall see."

Éowyn's gaze strayed to Aragorn again. There was a longing in those eyes that nobody could miss, but Gandalf had no energy left to speak to her about affairs of the heart. She surely knew of Arwen. Instead, he turned back towards Aragorn, but no sooner had he done so than the door flew open and Éomer appeared, looking just as exhausted as Gandalf felt.

"Gandalf, the King requires your presence. He needs your assistance."

Gandalf opened his mouth, and then closed it again. "Very well," he murmured. "Éowyn...?"

"I'll stay," she said quickly.

He nodded gratefully, and with a final look back at the two unconscious men turned and followed Éomer out of the room.

* * *

When Aragorn opened his eyes, the first thing he was aware of was pain. It hung over him like a storm cloud, turning his limbs to lead and sending stabbing jabs of agony through his arm and shoulder and head and... and everywhere. He blinked up at the ceiling, trying and failing to recognise it. Where was he? Did he know this place? Maybe... he turned his head, and then gasped as the pain in his head rose to an unbearable level. Tears instantly leapt to his eyes and he blinked them away furiously. What was going on? He was not one to cry for pain or weariness like some child. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and then called on any sliver of strength he had left and dragged himself a little more upright. His head swung dizzyingly and he felt nausea rise in his throat, hastily leaning his weight back on his elbows. The world swam and blurred before him, stubbornly refusing to make any kind of sense at all. He could barely remember anything at all... only...

Only darkness, and the sight of thousands of corpses tangled together on a bloodsoaked rock and earth, and that heavy, irrational fear that had taken hold of him and consumed him, that was still beating in his chest...

_"Baw! Estel... Aragorn, can... hear..."_

_Legolas._

He shook himself, the terror suddenly spearing into him once more. Where was Legolas? He could not remember parting from the Elf, and yet now he appeared to be quite alone.

"Aragorn? Aragorn!"

He flinched as the sudden voice drove in on him and made his head pound. Small hands flew to his face, pushing his sweat-soaked hair back as the weight of another person dipped the bed. Aragorn tried to pull back, but any strength that he had called on had now left him and he found himself simply clutching helplessly at the stranger's sleeve, still struggling to see. His own voice grated against his lips, so hoarse and quiet that he could barely recognise it.

"Who... I don't..."

"Aragorn? Do you hear me? Do not worry, I'm here. And Gandalf will be back soon, I promise."

It was a woman, but a woman whose voice he could not place. Her comforting words meant next to nothing to him - he needed to know where Legolas was. He needed to get up and... and stop something... He pushed himself upright with trembling arms, and the woman before him let out a cry of surprise, placing both hands on his shoulders in an effort to keep him down.

"Aragorn, please, you must lie still. You may start bleeding again. Aragorn-"

She broke off with a sharp gasp. For at that moment, Aragorn's struggling body chose to give out. The coppery taste of blood shoved itself up his throat and he spluttered, the warm liquid trickling from his lips. He gasped for breath, choking on the blood, and once again felt the woman's hands. Only this time they were supporting him almost completely.

"Aragorn! Oh no, I... Aragorn, it's alright, I have you, just... here..." Her voice had become panicked, and her hands shook as she pressed something to his face, wiping away the blood as best she could. The episode had been short, but now Aragorn was beyond terrified. He didn't know where he was, what had happened, or more importantly whether Legolas was dead or alive. And in the state he was in now, he was in no way to help the Elf let alone himself. He tried to push the woman away, but she misunderstood and reached for his hand, squeezing it gently.

"Do not worry, I will fetch Gandalf. Just promise me that you will stay still until I return, please?"

One thing stuck out in Aragorn's mind in that sentence - she was offering to leave. And if she left, then he would be alone and would have the chance to find out what was happening, where he was. He nodded quickly, and then froze with a groan as his head seared. For a fleeting second lips pressed against his forehead, and again he wondered who this woman was, why she seemed to care so very much about his fate. But then he heard her footsteps moving away, and those thoughts left him.

This was his chance.

He took a few moments to gather himself, and then once more sat up with a snarl of pain. He shut his eyes tight in a long blink, and then opened them once more and squinted out at the world. Everything was still swimming hazily, but if he concentrated as hard as he could he could just manage to pull the blurred colours into shapes. He was in room, other empty beds around him. On the cold flagstone floor beside him lay his shirt and jerkin, both covered with thick, drying blood. Bandages were wrapped around his chest and shoulder, almost mummifying him, scarlet blossoms showing through the fabric. He cast his eyes all around the room... and suddenly noticed the bed to his left, which was occupied.

Legolas.

But not the Legolas he knew. This Legolas was pale and streaked with sweat and blood, his skin pale, his eyes shut. _Shut. _Elves did not sleep with their eyes shut. Aragorn tried to call to him, but his voice betrayed him and came out as a hoarse croak. Still, with Elven hearing, Legolas should have been able to hear him. Aragorn felt terror rush through him and swung his legs off the bed, curling forwards over himself as he kept his gaze fixed on Legolas. Was he alive? He had to be alive. Even though Aragorn could not see his chest moving... he suddenly remembered something, a dream, or perhaps a living nightmare - a huge sword tearing through the Elf's chest, blood spilling from his mouth, golden hair drenched scarlet... Aragorn could not hold himself back any longer. He surged up to his feet and stepped forwards.

At once his legs crumpled beneath him and he crashed to the ground. His last memory was of agony spearing through his head, blinding him, consuming him, tearing him apart, his own voice screaming in a way he had never screamed before... and then there was nothing.

**Whew, not giving Aragorn a good time here am I? Again, I'm so, so sorry for the ridiculous wait on this chapter. I hope to be far more regular from now on.**

**Reviews are very welcome.**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


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